


Russian Roulette

by PigeonTracks



Category: Everyman HYBRID, Slender Man Mythos, Tribe Twelve
Genre: Blood and Gore, Character Death, Psychological Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:14:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25544959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PigeonTracks/pseuds/PigeonTracks
Summary: A bit I wrote for an rp, where Habit kills off Noah Maxwell, with his own gun.
Kudos: 6





	Russian Roulette

The last thing Noah was expecting was a knock at his door. It had been a month or so since everything went down, and it had finally cooled off. He could relax, and he was taking full advantage of that fact. No-one seemed to be bothering him, and he was perfectly fine with that. 

So, a knock at the front door was honestly the last thing he wanted. 

Grumbling, he walked over to the door, and slowly opened it. As he looked down at the short man on the other side, He immediately tried to slam it shut again. Habit quickly stuck his foot out and caught the door, forcing his way in and making Noah stumble. 

"What the fuck are you doing here, you bastard??!!" Noah yelled, watching as Habit barged in, walking over to his kitchen. 

Habit chuckles. "COME ON NOAH, YOU KNOW I DON'T LIKE TO LEAVE LOOSE ENDS..." He chides, opening the kitchen cupboards and looking through them.

Noah remains silent, slowly moving towards a side table, and reaching for the drawer.

"YOU BROKE RULE NUMBER ONE, AFTER ALL." Habit continues, pulling out a tin of coffee, and two mugs. "NO LEAVING."

Taking the mugs, he fills them with water and pops them in the microwave, starting it.

"I... Uh... Made a mistake, you see- I thought I could come back here-" He says carefully, opening the drawer, and digging around in it. 

"YOU FUCKING THOUGHT WRONG, NOAH." Habit grins, leaning against the microwave. "AND I DON'T FORGET LITTLE SLIP-UPS LIKE THAT." 

Noah continues to dig in the drawer until he finds what he was looking for. In one swift motion, he pulls out the gun, and points it at Habit's head, pulling the trigger.

A disappointing click rings throughout the kitchen. 

Clink. Clink. Click.

Noah pulls the trigger a few more times. The gun's empty. He stares in shock at the empty weapon. His arm drops to his side as he stares at Habit. 

Habit looks at him, a bored expression written on his face. The microwave chimes and he takes out the two boiling cups of water, and sets them on the table, pouring the coffee grounds directly in the water, not bothering to stir them. He sits down, and motions for Noah to join him.

Noah slowly sits down, setting the gun on the table. 

"What the fucking hell kind of game are you playing at this time?"He hisses, staring across the table at the smug little man. 

"THAT'S HOW YOU THANK ME FOR MAKING YOU A DRINK?" Habit asks, cocking his head. "RUDE. I SUGGEST YOU DRINK IT, AND SHOW A LITTLE RESPECT." 

Noah glances down at the boiling water, coffee grounds floating on top. "I think I'll wait a moment for it to cool- it's too hot." He says quietly. 

Habit snickers, and leans forward. "THAT'S THE FUCKING POINT, IDIOT. NOW DO YOU WANT TO DRINK IT WILLINGLY, OR FOR ME TO FORCEFULLY OPEN YOUR JAW AND POUR IT IN?"

Noah pauses, before silently giving Habit the middle finger. 

It certainly surprises him how fast Habit can move. One minute, he's sitting across from him, the next he's at Noah's side, grabbing Noah's jaw, and slamming his head against the back of the chair. 

Noah struggles, trying to push back the chair and jump up, but Habit fights back, hooking his foot around the chair leg, bracing himself. He gives the chair a shove, pushing Noah back in, and slamming the edge of the table into his stomach, making him double over and wheeze. 

Holding him in the chair by the shoulder, Habit grabs Noah's face again, pulling his head up, and hooking his fingers in his mouth, forcing his jaw open. Noah yells some muffled swears as Habit picks up the cup of coffee and brings it towards Noah's face.

Habit slowly begins to tip the mug's contents into Noah's mouth. 

Noah flails his arms, panicking. He tries to scream, the liquid making him choke, scalding his tongue and throat. He barely swallows any, most of it running down his neck and chest, burning the skin. 

Habit slams down the empty mug and lets go of Noah's head, letting it drop to the table. He laughs again and goes to sit down across from him again. 

"ALWAYS THOUGHT YOU LIKED COFFEE NOAH. NOT TO YOUR TASTE THIS TIME?" He taunts.

Noah coughs and sputters, his tongue burning, unable to speak for a moment. 

"F-Fuck you-" He mutters, speak slurred as he attempts to move his scalded mouth. 

Habit grins, leaning back in the chair. "YOU ALWAYS SAY THAT SAME UNCREATIVE, MEANINGLESS INSULT. WHAT DO YOU EVEN THINK IT DOES NOAH? HURT MY FEELINGS?"

Noah simply stares at him, unable to answer. Habit reaches out and picks up the gun, looking it over. 

"YOU WERE ALWAYS SO IMPULSIVE. I ALWAYS KNEW IT WOULD BE YOUR DOWNFALL." He says reflectively. 

Noah pauses, lowering his arm from wiping his tongue. The fact Habit was speaking in the past tense wasn't comforting. Eventually, he finds his voice again. "What do you mean by that?" Noah says quietly. 

Habit leans forward, twirling the gun on the table. "YOU KNOW EXACTLY WHAT I MEAN. I DIDN'T JUST COME HERE FOR A LITTLE COFFEE BREAK-"

He looks up at Noah, eyes gleaming. "IT'S ABOUT TIME I GOT YOU OUT OF MY WAY." 

Noah's eyes widen. So this was how he died- not by the hands of the operator, or observer, or any of the other collective fuckers- 

"You're gonna kill me?" He chokes out, voice hoarse.

Habit shrugs. "DEPENDS ON YOUR CHOICE. LET'S PLAY A LITTLE GAME, SHALL WE? IF YOU WIN, YOU KEEP YOUR PATHETIC, MEANINGLESS LIFE!" 

Noah swallows. "Ok, ok, I'll fucking play your damn game- what is it?" 

Habit waves the gun. "KNOW WHAT RUSSIAN ROULETTE IS? THERE'S ONE BULLET IN THIS GUN- WE CAN TAKE TURNS. WHOEVER DOESN'T GET THEIR FUCKING BRAINS BLOWN OUT... WINS."

Noah swallows. This was dumb. Very dumb, and probably rigged. 

"And if I refuse?" He asks, already figuring what the answer is. 

Habit picks up the gun again, looking it over carefully. "IF YOU REFUSE, I STICK THE BARREL IN YOUR MOUTH, AND FIRE IT UNTIL THE DAMN BULLET BLOWS THROUGH YOUR HEAD."

"Fine, fine, I'll play your damn game-" Noah hisses, taking the gun Habit holds out. His hands shake as he holds the barrel up to his head and slowly pulls the trigger. 

Click. 

Relieved, he slides the gun to Habit. Habit places the barrel to his forehead and presses the trigger. 

Click.

He hands the gun back to Noah, who silently prays for luck as he places the gun to the side of his head again. 

Click. 

He breathes a sigh of relief as Habit takes the gun again. He adjusts his cap and holds the gun under his chin. 

Click.

Giving Noah a shit-eating grin, Habit carefully hands the gun back. 

Noah stares at it. He's never had the best luck, and this is certainly pushing it. Then again, if the next is a blank as well, the bullet has to be after that, and then he'll win. A bit of hope flashes through him as he places the barrel to the side of his head with shaking hands, his finger finding the trigger. 

He closes his eyes and pulls the trigger. 

BLAM.

Habit pauses for a second and sips his coffee as Noah's lifeless body falls to the floor. Wincing at the taste, he sets down the mug and walks over to the body, kneeling down and looking at it. 

Blood leaks onto the floor, pooling around Noah's head, soaking his curls. He gives the body a kick and rolls it over.

Prying open an eyelid, Habit carefully seizes one of Noah's eyes, slowly and carefully prying it out, careful not to damage the delicate organ. Eventually, it pops out, and he releases the eyelid, as the empty socket fills with blood and a clear-ish fluid. 

Certainly worth ten bucks. 

He stands up and starts for the door. Giving one last look at the body, he grins and slams the door. 

"GOODBYE, NOAH MAXWELL."

**Author's Note:**

> The whole eye thing was because one of Habit's Rabbits wanted to buy an eye for ten bucks-
> 
> Comments and critiques are always appreciated :3


End file.
